


What Left to Do But Complain?

by yuffiehighwind



Series: An Eternity in Cheese Country [18]
Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Dual Identity, F/M, Gen, Milwaukee, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-01
Updated: 2003-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dennis doesn't believe Veronica's story, but maybe he wants to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Left to Do But Complain?

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the 'fic series "An Eternity in Cheese Country," and here's why - after they were killed by Callisto and Xena, the souls of Strife, Discord, and Deimos were reincarnated in the late 20th century into three humans named Steve, Veronica, and Dave.
> 
> Takes place immediately after "Wounds Are Full of Salt."

White walls, white rug, white flowers in a white vase. White snow outside and the immaculate atmosphere is making Veronica’s eyes burn. She blinks, puts a hand on her forehead and presses, as if it would still have an effect. She read in a magazine once that humans used pressure points to alleviate pain. Since the magic left, Veronica’s been dependent on aspirin and other pills to make the headaches go away. It doesn’t work. Or maybe it’s normal to want to shut her eyes and block it all out for a few hours. Listen to the silence and the rainfall. It’s too cold for rain. She turns on the radio instead. It’s too much.

Veronica sits on a gray couch that’s been reupholstered to match the white room. It’s one of the few contrast pieces. She looks over at Cherile, the secretary. Did she design this colorless hell? Dennis’ office isn’t like this. No, likely the prior owner’s fault, Veronica amends, examining Cherile’s judicious use of pink and purple. Long nails and tangled braids. Jolting shades of color peppering a black and white jacket straight out of a Debbie Gibson video. And if the jewelry doesn’t weigh her down, the headphones will. Veronica is a blur outside the blasting bubble of retro punk around the girl. She wonders if there’s any point to waiting for her signal. Dennis is probably outside Cherile’s realm of awareness too.

The girl proves Veronica wrong as the clock on her desk flips to exactly 1:25 pm and Cherile flicks her wrist in the direction of Dennis’ door, eyes still fixed on the magazine in front of her. Veronica gets up.

 

* * *

 

"Ms. Mathis! Lovely day, eh?"

"It’s the fucking Arctic, Dennis. I thought my tits were gonna freeze off."

He obliges her with a smile, replying, "Looks like they did. Now, how are you this week? Talked to any more bovines?"

Veronica self-conciously crosses her arms across her chest. It’s the shirt. The shirt makes it flat. Aw, fuck, what’s Dennis’ opinion matter? There she goes again, caring what others think.

"No, same old, same old, but a cat kept staring at me over at Steve’s studio."

"A cat? Hmm. This is new." Dennis feigns writing in a notebook. He picks up TV Guide and a cigarette as his tools. "And was this cat another ex, perhaps? Or a relative? You have so many."

Dennis is being sarcastic, of course, but it is true. Everywhere Veronica turns there is a ghost from her past. People on the street resembling her sisters, Ares, and yes, even cows speaking in ancient voices. That is why she is here. It is part of the court’s ruling because of that… _incident_ with the cow. Who knew punching one - (when it called you a slut, too!) - was a crime?

Veronica sits down on the sofa across from Dennis’ chair. Sarcastic, as previously noted, somewhat bitter, middle-aged, tall, part Irish, stand-offish, but strangely attractive Dennis. No, he isn’t a real doctor, but Wisconsin's government doesn’t need to know. Veronica also happens to be sleeping with him, which neither the government nor Steve need to know either.

Dennis puts down the TV Guide and lights the cigarette. He gets up and sits down again beside Veronica. "How’s Steve? You said he’s still got that studio. Dimitri never came back, I take it?"

She shakes her head. "Nope. Still in Russia. Or dead, more likely." She takes the cigarette from Dennis and smokes it herself. "Good riddance, I say."

"More of Steve for you, you mean?"

She looks at him. There’s a sardonic smirk hiding there. Ain’t no Anthony and she sure as hell ain’t no Cleopatra. "Yeah. You know me good."

He stands up. "Well. I know you _well_." Walking over to the bookcase he continues, "Though not too well. I still don’t understand what you are."

There’s that word. _What._ "Ah, a believer now, Dennis?" She breathes in the smoke and lets it out slowly, letting it burn, trying to replace the cold ache in her chest with prickling flame. It almost works. Almost.

"No. Just…I’ve heard too much to think you’re just crazy." He takes a book out and tosses it on the couch next to Veronica.

"What’s this?"

"A present. Open it to page 52."

She does this and gasps. Staring out at her is a painting labeled "Eris" followed by a page of notes. Black clouds flow from an eerie face as a pale hand extends, holding out a single golden apple. Below she can make out "daughter of Zeus" and she sucks on the cigarette like it’s gonna bring her breath back. She chokes, sputtering. Dennis rushes over and rubs her back. Veronica holds the book up, her eyes glinting with feeling – hope, power, regret, desperation?

Coughing, she says, "Now do you believe me?"

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a lyric from the song "Get Over It," by OK Go.
> 
> Originally composed in 2003; revised in 2015.


End file.
